


Small Magics

by a_lanart



Series: The O'Niall Chronicles [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_lanart/pseuds/a_lanart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Payment in kind takes many forms</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Magics

Title: Small Magics  
Author: Aeron Lanart  
Rating: G.  
Disclaimer: The Highlander universe belongs to Panzer/Davis, and not me.  
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.

~*~

Small Magics

*

As the last note faded into the twilight, Siannon raised her head. The lad was sleeping peacefully; the bandaged hand relaxed where it lay on the woven blanket. She smiled as his mother's voice whispered from the shadows,

"Thank you, Siannon ni Aobh. I was afraid he might lose that hand."

"He will be fine. If he seems to be sleeping restlessly just sing this over him," she hummed a few bars, and then spoke the words quietly. "That should encourage him to settle once more." The woman repeated the hummed tune and incantation; Siannon nodded as she listened, it was note and word perfect. "When you sing the words, do it softly, they are meant to ease a person into deeper sleep, not bludgeon him there." She was rewarded by a soft chuckle.

"I will try to remember that."

"Good. I will be back to check young Cabhan in 2 days. He should still be affrighted enough not to use the hand for that length of time." Siannon carefully detuned her harp for travelling and laid it in its case, then gathered together the rest of her possessions that had been required in that nights work. As she was leaving, a leather flask was pressed into her hands. "I don't require payment, Daireann." Clear grey eyes laughed up at her.

"This isn't payment, Siannon, its mead. Our bees produce very special honey, which makes our mead unique. It would be good if its fame spread through the country. And we can refill that flask for you when you come back..." Siannon unstoppered the flask and took a mouthful letting the mead rest on her tongue for a moment before it trickled down her throat, spreading its gentle warmth; it tasted of honey and heather and sunshine underlied by a soft herbal note. She licked her lips.

"That is very, very good. Its fame will be well deserved." The two women shared a smile, and Siannon muttered a quick blessing on the house, and its helpful bees, before she made her way to her pony and what she called home.

Siannon smiled into the darkness with no-one any the wiser, apart from the pony who snuffled happily. She patted the mare's shaggy neck; she was a sensitive little thing and good company for a wandering healer and bard. Today had been a good day, and not just because of the excellent mead. Today she had made a difference. The great bardic magics of wind and wave were not for her, nor the lesser ones of hearth and home, land and lore. For her the greatest magic was in a mother's smile and a child's laughter. She was on this earth to soothe and heal and teach, and above all to remember. A peal of joyful laughter escaped her; she had a bard's trained memory, even if she did not possess any real magic beyond her skill in music and healing, and she had all the time in the world to remember. Rejoicing in her immortality, and with the prospect of fine mead to warm her, she rode cheerfully into the night.


End file.
